


Death Is Only a Door

by sunshinekat



Category: The Strain (TV)
Genre: Dutchshipsit, F/M, GivingEphreasonstodrinkagain, GusandFetareconfusedandaroused, Humanquinlan, M/M, Quinlanjustwantedtodieinpeace
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-23
Updated: 2018-02-02
Packaged: 2019-03-08 11:31:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13457346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunshinekat/pseuds/sunshinekat
Summary: The master is destroyed, the world goes into turmoil, it’s not the end though. Not for Quinlan who undergoes a transformation nobody expected.





	1. Chapter 1

Prologue

 

Metamorphosis

He thought it was a dream at first. Lights and shadows, worms covering his body, his blood leaking out of his nose and mouth. The master, his father, finally dead in a flash of blinding light. Goodweather dragging him down, pulling him with all his human strength into something. They fell, he remembers the flash. It had happened like this when the first nuke had gone off.

They landed in water, and Goodweather is holding him, dragging him by the collar of his coat. He is pulled onto land, sluggish and in unbelievable pain, too much pain for this not to be a dream.

He remembers Goodweather wiping at his face, his blue eyes filled with worry, he shouldn’t be here, doing this. The last thing that Quinlan remembers is that Ephraim Goodweather lost his son and saved the world at the same time and yet he was still trying to save a monster.

Soon it was too painful to keep his eyes open, his blood was filling up his mouth and pouring out of his nose and ears, terrified he gripped Goodweather’s hand, he was dying, it was finally happening, he’d longed for it for so many years and now it was here.

Quinlan heard Goodweather talking to him, in those painful, final moments, it was muffled, but it sounded like, “Don’t you fucking die on me you Strigoi sonofabitch!”

-:-

Ephraim had never seen a Strigoi die like this before. He’d seen the worm yanked out of their mouth, he’d seen them burn to death in the light of an ultraviolet flashlight. He’d even seen them hacked to death.

But these convulsions, the slow and terrifying sight of the worms struggling to stay in the body, it reminded him of the effect of blood thinners. But he hadn’t poisoned Quinlan, he’d tried to save him.

He had grasped Eph’s hand in terror, his cries were not that horrible screech, they were the cries of a man in unimaginable pain.

He had to let go eventually, when the worms started tearing through his pores, and he had to step away from the body and watch him as it happened.

Not death, not like a human would, not like a normal Strigoi would die. But like a half-breed. The White covered him entirely seeming to pour forever from his body before slowing.

And he watched it thicken, and as he struggled to get someone on the comms of his walkie-talkie he noticed with morbid curiosity that the White had hardened like a hard resin over and around Quinlan’s form.

Stuck as he was in the dark tunnels of the reservoir he was unable to bury the man but he instead decided to leave him where he lay. The white had healing properties after all, who knows what it might be doing in there.

It would be weeks before anyone found him at the bottom of that tunnel. Half-mad from the solitude, starved, dehydrated. But still, the scientific part of him, the part that he let live on in Nora’s name, wouldn’t let him discard of Quinlan’s body.

 

After all, he was all Eph had left.

 


	2. Chapter One:

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ephraim struggles to find his moorings during the revival of the world.

_He was swallowed by the white. Consumed entirely, he couldn’t see anything, it was like staring at the sun, the burning pain covering his body. Encased in agony, he had no voice to scream._

 

“And our muncher?” Fet asked, his startling blue eyes filled with worry.

Eph shook his head, “He’s gone, inside of that...” he gestured to the white man shaped coffin. Fet pulled out his crowbar and went for it, “We need to get him outta there!”

“No wait!” Ephraim cried,” Not yet...or...I don’t know what it is Fet, but we can’t just break into it. He’s-"it had only been three days since they’d recovered them from the bottom of that tunnel, injured, starved but miraculously radiation free. Dutch didn’t give up, that’s what he was told by Roman, she wouldn’t let another member of her ‘family’ die again.

Fet and Gus put on some hazmat suits and searched the area, they didn’t find Eph until they went deeper, where the radiation levels were lower, but that would have changed had they waited.

Now Ephraim was here, trying to defend this monstrosity from his friends. Who knew what would come out, they were all thinking it, the Master was dead, but Quinlan was his son, he could come out mad, he could break out of there alive and well and just as horrifying as the Master.

To tell the truth, it was taking all Ephraim had not to destroy it himself. The Strigoi had taken everything from him, his wife, his job, his lover, his home and his son. He had nothing left. Nothing but them, and like Dutch he wasn’t going to just bend over and let the world take someone else he loved away from him. Not again. Not while he could still fight.

Fet relented, probably coming to the same conclusion. Dutch entered the room with a bowl of hot, delicious smelling broth. She went to where Ephraim was, standing in front of the Quinlan shaped husk. “Right, I don’t think you should be moving.” Ephraim is still on the defensive, and it took him a moment to return to where he was, safe, with friends. He followed a smiling Dutch to his cot and sat down, he took the bowl she offered and ate slowly. Other men in his condition would have drank the bowl in minutes and demanded seconds. But he knew better, he was in no condition to digest the stuff, but they didn’t have much in materials for proper recovery. He’d just have to take it slow.

Ignoring the agony his body was in, he slowly consumed the broth in an attempt to stop his own body from eating itself, Ephraim kept his gaze on that cocoon, curious to see what would come out, with as much determination he’d possessed when he tried to cure that elderly couple. But also, with a tiny glimmer of hope that it wouldn’t be a monster.

 

_He was dreaming. About Rome, about the pillars, the silks, the streets filled to the brim with humans. He dreamed of the maddened crowd, screaming at him to end the life of his poor, human victim. He dreamed of the struggle of resisting the allure of human blood._

 

Ephraim’s recovery was slow coming, but even slower was the recovery from the death of the Master. Week after week there were more and more hordes of the beasts invading the city, the populace too weakened to fight back.

That was until Roman took over, his military training helped bring back the exiled New York cops and with that they built a front against the mindless monsters trying to consume the city. With that in hand, the Partnership that had fallen apart so easily and in such an ugly way, (most of their members consumed by the Strigoi in their presence) began to take an active role in helping the dwindling human populace.

Dutch joined a hacker group that rose up with the intent of bring back the internet. With that she wasn’t living with them anymore.

When Roman stepped up to bring back currency and took over the National Treasury, it was Fet who took over the never-ending fight against the Strigoi.

 

It was happening with such efficiency, that Ephraim felt useless, still recovering over those months. He was aware he should have recovered weeks ago, but deep down inside he knew this was more than just starvation. The world was finally going back to normal, and with that the grief and loss he had experienced day after day came with it. He’d been dealing with it for longer than this, but it was coming in great bouts, manic depressive episodes, thoughts of suicide, and nightmares. Nightmares of his son betraying him one last time, only to find out he was going to set off the bomb, Quinlan collapsed at his side, face beaten so badly it was nearly unrecognizable. He was breathing, it was small, pained huffs but it was enough, and Zach’s eyes meeting his, telling him to run. And it was as if he were shutting that door again, sliding it shut and locking it when Zach was screaming for him to let him out, that he was just trying to _save his life!_.

 

The nightmares were memories for him, he sometimes dreamed he was walking through a dark train tunnel looking for Zach and Nora, he woke himself up before he reached her shaking form. Always before he took her in his arms for one last time.

Strangely enough, he didn’t dream of the explosion, he didn’t see Zach’s face when he pushed the switch, he saw Kelly. Her pretty face marred and furious, more angry with him in death than she had been in life.

The sight of her dying for the first and last time.

 

_He was here again, in that old Victorian mansion. A cute little blonde child ran up to him and grabbed his leg, “Caught you!” her multi-colored eyes twinkled with mischief. He heard a laugh, low and beautiful, he glanced up and saw a woman standing by the fireplace, but he couldn’t see her face._

 

Ephraim lived in that dreary old mansion during this time of recovery for humanity. He participated little. At times, Gus and Fet came to him with the wounded, not by worms but from the gangs that were forming with the collapse of what little society they’d developed with the Partnership.

Healing took him from his thoughts, took him from the agony of his memories. During the night, when he couldn’t escape the nightmares, he’d sit down beside the cocoon and rest, it didn’t bring him peace but he didn’t feel so alone.

 

_Night after night, trapped in a cage, forced to show his monstrosity each and every night to a crowd of horrified onlookers. He was taken from that only to murder his savior. Each and every single time he was saved, his savior paid the price. He didn’t want to be saved anymore._

 

“This area is getting too dangerous, Doc,” Fet says as he critically observes Ephraim’s current living space. He would judge it unfit, and much like he would try to with Sitrakian he would attempt to convince Ephraim to leave to a safer location.

“And where is safety? The streets are filled with gangs and stray Strigoi. What place is safer than here.”

“We found an abandoned farm a few miles out of town, good spot to relocate.” he looked at Eph waiting for him to argue. Ephraim didn’t say anything, and judging by Fet’s face, that wasn’t what he wanted to hear.

“Pack your things, Doc.”

“What about Quinlan?” he asked, he didn’t look at Fet, he didn’t want to see his expression. The judgement.

“Doc...” he sounded sorry, “After all this, you know nothing good comes from people coming back to life.”

Ephraim looked at Fet, he recognized that look, it was the same look he’d had when he held Quinlan’s hand when he was dying. It was time to accept their friend was-

 

_**crack!** _

 

_He couldn’t breathe, he was trapped in that cave again, in darkness, the stench of her blood all around him, he had to get out! Getoutgetoutgetout-_

 

Ephraim jumped up and grabbed his gun, Fet pulled out his sword, both of them tense, hopeful, terrified of what might come out.

The resin of the cocoon cracked violently, something was hitting it from the inside. There was a scream, not an unnatural screech like a Strigoi, but a pained scream of a human. Again the resin cracked against something hitting it from the inside, both Ephraim and Fet saw a spatter of red color the white insides of the cocoon.

“Christ, what is it?” Ephraim breathed.

One final crack, like the crack of bone against metal, something burst through the shell, it wasn’t white and pale, covered in purple veins. It was an arm, wet and shiny with blood. Red blood. _Human_ blood.

 

Ephraim and Fet hesitated, and then moved. Ephraim ran and knelt down and grabbed the straining, struggling hand, god he knew this grip, he knew who it belonged to. He’d held it just a few months ago.

Fet was hitting the cocoon with his crowbar, in strategic areas that would weaken the shell but not injure whatever was inside.

The cocoon collapsed around the body inside it. It was Quinlan, or was it?

Eph was ripping a piece of his shirt off to press it against the deep cut in Quinlan’s arm. But his brain wasn’t calculating it right, wasn’t associating the clearly human man with the monster he’d known.

Fet was just standing there, staring at them.

“Get me my bag, Fet! He’s gonna bleed out.”

Fet much like Eph was, moved through habit, they’d done this numerous times, and it was only after he was wrapping gauze around the bleeding limb, with Fet sitting beside him, staring in complete shock, that Ephraim finally dared to look at the man he was healing.

 

It sure as hell wasn’t Quinlan.

 


	3. Chapter Two Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A brief look at a man with nothing and another with a gift he doesn't understand.

Quinlan wasn’t sure if he was really awake. This could be a dream just like before, another facet of his past. But he didn’t recognize this memory of Goodweather, or Fet. Fet was sitting nearby staring at him with a look he’d never seen. Shock and...elation? And Goodweather was wiping at Quinlan’s face with a fierceness, as if he were trying to wipe off his skin itself.

He smacked Goodweather's hand off him, startled at the sight of his own arm and skin, bandaged, and...a different color. Flushed, aching and...human.

He was a shade like Goodweather, his skin wasn’t pale, covered in purple veins.

What the hell had happened?

He looked at both his hands, eyes wide, puzzlement was too mild a word to describe how he felt. Goodweather didn’t stay in doubt, and was apparently not offended about getting hit. Instead he was touching Quinlan again, taking his pulse, he put his ear to Quinlan’s naked chest and jumped back and looked at Fet exclaiming, “He’s got a fucking pulse, Fet!”

Fet looked from Quinlan to Goodweather, speechless.

Watching them in silence, Quinlan felt much like he’d like to be alone right now, obviously this was a prank of some kind, for a creature like him to look human wasn’t new. He knew what he looked like. he’d seen this face before. He wasn’t...it wasn’t new. And he wasn’t human.

He looked at his hand and he swiped at it with his thumb, irritated that the length of his nails was shorter, useless really. Fet and Goodweather were speaking in fast voices, excited tones. They must have felt very proud of themselves.

Quinlan reached out and picked up Goodweather’s scalpel and drew it across his thumb. He watched it bleed red, not truly comprehending what was happening, he waited for the healing to start, for the worms to weave him back together.

Nothing.

His breaths came shorter, he had never experienced this before, his head felt like it was getting lighter, spots filled his vision and everything went black.

Quinlan collapsed and Goodweather went to him, pausing in his scientific triumph to tend to his friend. He wrapped the thumb and had Fet help carry him to Eph’s cot.

Fet was suspicious, “Is it really him?”

“It has to be, he looks so different like this, but I saw him, Fet, I held his hand while he was dying.” Ephraim's tone lowered, “It’s definitely him.”

“Is he human?” Fet asked, and Eph shot him an impatient look, “What the hell do you think?!" Ephraim exclaimed, "Are you blind look at him? Heartbeat, check. No creepy pale, veined skin? Check. Bleeds red instead of White and worms? Fucking check!” He was excited and terrified at the same time. “That shell must have been a chrysalis of some kind, the worms weren’t dead when the White took him, it was as if it were trying to...heal him.” he looked at Fet as they lowered their friend carefully onto Ephraim’s blankets.

“So he’s alive...he’s human...not muncher and he’s got no worms.” Fet scratched his head staring down at the man lying in the bed. “Q didn’t have hair before...”

“Maybe this is what he was supposed to look like if he’d never been infected.”

“Maybe we should find him some clothes.”

Ah, right. Whatever happened to Quinlan inside of that thing it had made him human, _entirely_ human.

Ephraim threw a blanket over Quinlan’s waist, “He’ll be happy to see that in the morning.”

“Wasn’t he born without one?”

Both men looked at each other in mute horror.

Fet crossed his arms over his broad chest, “I’ll give you a few days, get Q caught up, you can’t stay here any longer, it’s getting dangerous.”

Ephraim nodded, he didn’t want to leave, not when this was the last place he’d seen Setrakian, but he understood, damn it all he understood.

Quinlan woke up. He wasn’t used to this...floating darkness he’d been pulled out of. He felt less, pained however, less worn out. He sat up in the bed he was laying in and looked around. He heard the noise that woke him a second time, it was muffled, he wasn’t able to hear it as well- he touched his ears and felt the round edges. Like his nails, muted, useless in battle.

He stood up and walked toward the sound, ready to tear apart whatever it was.

He found Goodweather in the room where Setrakian had stayed, his things were still there, untouched. Goodweather was piling weapons into a trunk. He turned and jumped in surprise when he saw Quinlan in the entrance way. His gaze went from Quinlan’s face toward his middle and lower. It was a sharp, curious gaze. Quinlan had long ago realized he needed to avoid from making Doctor Goodweather curious.

He felt the cool air touching parts of him he didn’t find familiar. He glanced down and saw that he had normal human genetalia. Human...he was completely human. Unsure how to react he kept to what felt normal, and pushed the emotions away.

He looked at Goodweather who looked back at him, “I will return.” Quinlan said, turning and walking back to Goodweather’s room.

Quinlan looked around for a pair of pants, he caught sight of that scalpel again and wondered if he should cut it off. After all, it’s only use was for reproduction, not for battle.

He found some pants that fit and slid them on, he found a shirt, it fit a bit tight but he found himself feeling warm. It was something like the feeling of drinking human blood, it filled his entire body and made him comfortable. He stopped for a moment, dizzy, like everything was moving too fast.

He sat down, thinking when the last time was he’d had blood, he searched his mind for the memory of that hunger, and concern gripped him when he felt the absence of it. The amount of control he had to exert when being around humans was almost second nature to him. Yet here he was, possibly starved, with Goodweather just a room away with his warm blood just waiting for devouring and the worm was...satisfied?

Quinlan’s mind was filled with questions, some he’d never considered asking himself. Questions of mortality, of what life as a human entailed. After all, he consumed humans for most of his existence. And that was what disturbed him the most. A small part of him, unrecognizable was aware of the changes. He’d looked at his body, had seen the color his blood was now. But the hunger, that burning, devouring hunger, was gone. Like a part of himself had simply disappeared and left a void in it’s own likeness.

He recalled that long winter traveling with Fet, and how he’d pitied humans for their need to rest, their need for warmth. All unnecessary to Quinlan’s existence, all useless in battle. He was always prepared, lived each day as if it were his last facing death time and time again. And never once had the scythe touched him,

And now in this weak, mortal shell he felt like the pointed blade of the reaper itself was pressed against his throat, just waiting for him to make a mistake.

Quinlan wasn’t sure how long he’d been sitting there, on Goodweather’s bed, tormented, horrified at the prospect his life held.

The doctor appeared in the entrance way, wearing a mask of patience, of concern. Like all the new physical aspects of his new human body, Quinlan had no use for it.

“My belongings are still at the hotel.” he said, sick with humiliation at having to borrow Ephraim’s clothes. They fit loose, the belt was heavy around his waist. He felt things differently now.

“I can talk to Fet...See if we can get them back for you.”

Quinlan opened his mouth to protest, but he stopped himself, what would he say? His sword was gone, his body was this weak sack of meat and he was proposing going out there to get his things back?

“No need, I will recover them myself.”

Ephraim’s look of concern changed almost instantly, “That isn’t a good idea. Now that you’re human we don’t know what it’s done to you, it could have really messed you up. Besides, you know that building is probably totaled, I don’t mind sharing just-”

“I appreciate your concern, doctor but-”

“You’re not leaving!” Ephraim snapped, he caught himself, and the look that he gave Quinlan was that of a broken man. Quinlan hated that he recognized that look. He’d seen it himself, that night in London, looking down at his lover and her daughter. That night when he stained his sword with their blood.

“You can’t stop me, doctor.” He felt a pounding in his chest, unfamiliar and frightening, he felt the tongue in his mouth slithering and wet, not dangerous in the least. He had been a predator, he had been the Born he had been a marvel. And now, thanks to this...human. That part of him was gone, left in the irradiated dark of those tunnels with his father, with Ephraim Goodweather’s son.

He grabbed one of Ephraim’s shirts and slid it on and once he’d stolen a jacket and two hand guns he was walking away. Ephraim watching him helplessly, just as he always did when Quinlan left a room.

“Quinlan wait!”

He would not wait-

“Seriously Q hold on!”

Quinlan halted, turned intending to give Ephraim a brief moment to say his part before exiting.

All the doctor did was offer him a pair of boots.

“You’re going to need these.”

Quinlan snatched them from Ephraim’s grasp, submitting to the humiliation of having to put them on while he was watching.

“You know, if you wait for Fet he’d probably go with you. No harm having back up.”

“And why aren’t you offering to be back up? Too much work to leave your hovel?” Quinlan spat.

Ephraim didn’t answer, “I’ll leave the door open for you.” He muttered turning his back on Quinlan and walking away.

Ephraim was pissed beyond belief, aside from the rage filling him for what he was going through, he’d always hated that Ephraim picked his battles when it came to this, turning his back when it something didn’t suit him.

When Quinlan went out that door, he fully intended to never return. And Ephraim sitting in that old mansion, alone, wondered why he’d ever bothered trying to save him.


End file.
